


Just a Taste

by AMaskOnTwoFaces



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Women are Steve Roger's Type, Blood Drinking, Blood mixed with Sex, F/M, Finding out you're a Vampire!, Graphic Description of Drinking Blood, M/M, Multi, Post-Avengers Shawarma Scene, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, The Care and Feeding of Tony Stark, The Serum turned him, Threesome, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Vampire!Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-02-23 17:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMaskOnTwoFaces/pseuds/AMaskOnTwoFaces
Summary: Steve needs a different kind of food right now.Tony's cool with it.





	1. April 2012: Post-Invasion

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ironfries Art Prompts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222306) by [copperbadge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge). 
  * Inspired by [hooked on you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721684) by [theappleppielifestyle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle). 
  * Inspired by [Red (White & Blue)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4450562) by [counteragent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/counteragent/pseuds/counteragent). 



> This story will be more of a collection of ficlets than a linear story, so please pay attention to the chapter titles to figure out when a chapter is set, as I won't always explicitly state it in the work.

_**April 2012: Post-Invasion** _

They’re sitting in the Shawarma shop, dust still hanging in the air from their recent battle with aliens (an actual, honest alien invasion), and Steve watches his team fight their bone-weary exhaustion to feed themselves.  He doubts they’re even tasting anything they’re shoving down their throats with how exhausted they are.  That, or they’re so hungry that this is the best food they’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting.

 _Steve_ , however… well, it’s not that he’s not hungry, it’s just… he needs a _different_ kind of food right now; he needs a different hunger sated before his body even has a hope of processing the stuff he’s choking down at the moment.  His body knows this, too, and it’s making the shawarma foul and tasteless to his senses in hopes of getting him to feed his _other_ appetite.

Which would all be fine and dandy, and he _knows_ it’s a great way of understanding when he needs to get a drink, but right now, he’s not really ready to expose his _other_ otherness to his team; they’ve all had a whirlwind couple of hours, and he really doesn’t want to add to that—not that he doesn’t think that they wouldn’t accept him; the magic-using god on their team is probably more supernatural than him—he just doesn’t know if these people would be in the right state of mind to react with grace to his condition right now.  Hell, _he’s_ not in the right state of mind to do it either.

So instead, he’s trying to choke down the tasteless, overcooked meat (for his current sensibilities, anyways, he’s sure it must be perfectly good food for normal tastes), doing his best to eat food like his normal-ish teammates.

Stark, however, is sitting directly across from him, and he keeps stealing furtive glances over at Steve.  Or, as furtive as one can possible make glances when they’re exhausted out of their minds.  Somehow, though, Tony Stark pulls it off.

Does he know?

Does he know Steve’s secret?  Did Howard tell him?  Is it in Steve’s SHIELD file?  He didn’t check—maybe the whole team knows already. Maybe he’s keeping up this ruse for no reason.  Maybe he could just stop trying to eat now, and no one would say anything.  Or maybe they’re still in the dark, and he still needs to— _God_ , don’t choke—force this food wastefully down.  He may not need to breathe as much as a normal human, but choking is still a hazard; choking is still No Fun and should be avoided where possible.

\--and, yep, Stark noticed that choke.  Steve chokes _again_ , dammit, and Stark throws a hand down on the table, startling everyone from their dazed reverie.

“I just remembered something,” he says, perfectly natural, while Steve works on forcing that last bite of food down, “Rogers, mind taking a walk with me for a minute?”

Stark’s already standing, food and napkin placed down on the table, and everyone just kinda stares at him for a second before Steve’s quickly getting up as well, his chair almost falling over in his haste, “Uh, yeah, of course, yeah.”  Smooth Rogers, real smooth.  Agent Romanov sends him a sharp look at his blubbering, and if he had enough blood in his body right now, he knows he’d be blushing in guilt under her gaze.

He follows Stark out of the store, and they immediately turn right to get out of everyone’s sight lines, clambering over the rubble in the street as they go. 

The city is eerie in its silence, some sirens wailing in the distance of emergency vehicles assisting any survivors, but in general, everyone has abandoned the area.  Steve has to suppress a shiver at the comparison he makes to some of the ghost cities he saw back in the war; evacuated, bombed out, and inhospitable.  Sometimes it feels like he never left. 

The sirens make him feel guilty for not going out and helping the search for trapped survivors, but he knows his team has to have been awake for at least a day and a half at this point.  They did their part, he reminds himself, they’re too exhausted to be any help now.

Stark picks out a nearby alley to lead them into, traveling far enough down it to be out of the general hearing range of their teammates, but still close enough to yell if need be.

He pauses there, and turns to face Steve.

“You’re thirsty.”

It’s not a question, but Steve nods anyways.

Stark nods, too, but his action is in decisiveness as he starts pushing up his sleeve.

“Is from the wrist fine?”

Steve nods again, mouth too dry to speak.  So Howard _did_ tell Stark—or, at least, he found out somehow.  Regardless, Stark knows, and he’s volunteering his own blood to the cause, and now that Steve is letting himself think about it, he’s so goddamn _thirsty_ , and Starks blood is pumping, nice and thick and healthy, just underneath the skin.  He’s saying something else, but Steve’s so far gone, he can’t begin to comprehend the words anymore.  He just stares at Stark’s wrist, entranced, until it starts to lift in offering.

He snatches the forearm in both hands, takes one last look at his donor’s face for—yep, nod of consent—and he dives in.

There’s a pleasant little _snap_ as the flesh gives way under his fangs.  He vaguely hears a gasp (in pain?) at the puncture, but he’s too focused on the brilliant, rich flavor of the blood as it bursts over his tongue to give any mind.  Steve makes a happy little sound as he starts to take small pulls, drawing in the red nectar and letting it roll across his taste buds. 

Steve’s in _heaven_ right now.  Fury’s got him using stale bags of donated blood, which _works_ , but nothing is quite like taking it from the source; hearing the rushing of the blood flowing through veins, hearing the _thud-thud, thud-thud_ of the heart pumping it through.  There’s nothing quite like the feeling of knowing that _he_ controls these functions, that he could slow their progress, even stop them if he so desires.  But he doesn’t.

There’s something like an aftertaste to Stark’s blood.  It’s otherworldly; a flavor he can’t quite name, perhaps one he’s never experienced before, but it’s _beautiful—_ maybe the best thing he’s ever tasted—but Stark’s heart is already slowing; he’s been through a lot in the past day or so, and can’t afford to give Steve much, so Steve breaks off, gasping in his first taste of oxygen after several long minutes, and while he licks the wound clean and closed, he lets his hearing return to normal; no longer tunneling onto Stark’s blood.

He starts to register that Stark’s panting above him (when did he get on his knees?), and he glances up to find Stark bracing himself with his other arm on the alley wall, eyes blown wide with a mix of wonder and _want_.

Steve purrs at the response, letting go of the forearm to nuzzle at Stark’s hip, and Stark’s hand follows to card through his hair.

Abruptly, Steve comes back to himself, stilling once he realizes what exactly he’s doing.  Stark uses the hand in his hair to gently tug Steve’s head up to face him, “Hey, hey—no—you’re good, you’re good Rogers.  It’s fine—more than fine, actually.”

Steve swallows, slightly turning his head to dislodge Stark’s hand, which he moves away without issue, “You, um, you’re—you’re blood has an interesting aftertaste,” he says, trying to change the subject but not really having anything to change it _to_ , so, of course, Stark’s blood is the first thing that comes to mind.

“Yeah, that’s probably due to the arc reactor, like I was trying to warn you about beforehand,” Stark defends, and Steve regrets opening his mouth; he probably doesn’t want to talk about it; Start must have been fine just helping out his teammate, but now he probably just wants to forget it happened—

“Oh, I—ah—kinda zoned out there once you offered your wrist,” and _dammit_ mouth! Why can’t you just stay shut?

Stark chuckled, “I figured something like that; you were looking pretty glazed over there,” and _oh_ , Stark’s just defensive cause he thought he might taste bad.  Steve can fix that.

“Don’t worry, it was a _very_ good taste,” he says earnestly as he licks his lips, catching a hint of Tony’s flavor and humming at it, “Sorry I didn’t hear your warning, I was a little distracted there,” he stands.

“Oh, _were_ you now,” Stark purrs.

Oh, _now_ Steve can blush.  Great timing body.


	2. May 2012: At the Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve sighs.  
> Another day, another bag of microwaved blood.  
> Wooooo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!  
> I have been lovingly given requests for more, so please enjoy!
> 
> Also, the rating has been increased to Mature.

**_May 2012: At the Tower_ **

Steve sighs.

Another day, another bag of microwaved blood.

Wooooo.

He’s leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed as he watches the mug spin round and round and round on that little turn table.  The blood doesn’t sound overly appetizing right now, but he’s kinda thirsty.  Of course, he’s always ‘kinda’ thirsty whenever he’s living off the stale bagged stuff Fury forces him to drink.  It’s not anywhere near as satisfying as taking blood from the source—kinda like how jerking yourself off is nowhere near as satisfying as doing it with another person—it’s missing the excitement; the heat, the sounds, the _control_ you have over your partner, whether it’s their life or their pleasure that you hold in your hands. 

However, Fury was adamant about not letting word spread about Captain America being a bloodsucker, especially with the fast-paced media of this day and age.  Which means he wanted to tell a grand total of zero people about Steve’s affliction. 

Steve refused. 

He argued that the team, at least, should know, and the main doctors who treat him perhaps.  This way, everyone can account for Steve’s special needs, like how they account for Agent Barton’s hearing impairment.  He cited the fact that Stark had already known, and the only thing he did with the information was to privately make sure Steve got fed after the Battle of New York.  And if Stark can keep Steve’s secret, then surely the rest of the team is more than qualified to. 

Fury reluctantly acquiesced.

The team took the news well.

However, since Steve isn’t going to force his team to feed him (there are other, less intimate ways to bond, thank you), that still leaves him with no live food sources, and thusly, he’s confined to this wonderful diet of blood bags.  Yay.

The microwave beeps, letting him know his latest feast has finished cooking.  He retrieves the travel mug, placing its lid on before going and plopping down on his couch.  He’d learned very early on, that, regardless if you were eating it or not, blood was really, really difficult to get out of upholstery; hence the lidded travel mug.

He’s sipping at the blood (which isn’t terrible, just weird and underwhelming), when the elevator dings and the doors open.  Steve twists to look over his shoulder, confused.  JARVIS normally asks permission for visitors to come up, or will at least warn that someone’s on their way.  The only exception to that would be—

“Hey there, Capsicle.”

—Stark, which explains the lack of notification.  Steve just raises his eyebrows at the man barging onto his floor.

“You got a little blood-stache going there,” he said, motioning to his mouth.  Steve wipes his face, then licks the back of his hand when he realizes there _was_ actually blood there, “Whatcha got? O Negative?”

Steve frowns at his mug, “Uh, B Negative, I think.”

“You think? Didn’t you say they all smelled different or something?”

“Yeah.  But it all just starts tasting the same when it’s been sitting in a bag for several weeks.”

Stark pulls a face, “That sounds terrible.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Steve agrees solemnly.

Stark vaults the couch, landing with a _fwump_ on the cushion next to Steve.  He leaves his limbs sprawled everywhere as he sighs, his head lolling over to look at Steve, “We need to talk.”

“I was wondering why you invaded my floor.”

“Yeah, but you’re too polite to ask.”

Steve smiles, ducking his head.

“ _Anyways_.  Pepper, my girlfriend, personal assistant, CEO, Light of My Life, et cetera, and I have been talking.  As in serious talks, Steve, these have been serious talks.”

Steve cuts his eyes over at Stark.  Mention of girlfriend, serious conversations, use of Steve’s actual name (first name to boot)… “Please don’t break it off with your girl over me.”

Stark laughs.  “I’m hoping for the opposite, actually.”  He sits up, turning to be fulling facing Steve, who’s still hunched over his mug of disappointing blood, “When you drank from me, after the invasion of little green men; Steve, that was—that was seriously hot,” he breathes.

Steve freezes.  Alright then.  He sets the mug of blood down, cause it’s not worth his attention right now.  He, too, turns to face Stark.

“Stark—“

“Tony.”

He smiles, “Tony.  Are—are you propositioning me right now?”  His voice did _not_ squeak at the end there, thank you very much.

Tony reaches up, tracing his knuckles down Steve’s cheek and across his jaw, making a shiver run up Steve’s spine.  “Yes, yes I am.”

“What about Pepper, you mentioned her?”  Steve’s voice has gone breathy.  He can’t believe this might actually be happening.

“Pep’s given her blessing.  As long as she comes first, I can do as much blood and sex as I want with you.  I do need to warn you, though, I won’t be able to keep things PG if you’re biting me, so if you’re not on board with sexy times happening, then this isn’t gonna work.”

“No—ah—yeah, I’m on board.  I’m _very_ on board.”

“You okay there Steve?” Tony asks, smirking.

“Mmm-hmm,” Steve strangles (squeaks) out.

Tony glances at the mug of blood that had been abandoned on the coffee table, “That stuff isn’t very filling, is it.”

“ _God no_.”

He smiles at Steve, “Wanna try the neck?”

Steve _whines_.

“I’ll take that as a yes.  Come here,” he motions, laying himself back against the armrest, drawing Steve up between his legs.  He tries to guide Steve to his neck, but Steve instead heads towards his mouth.

The first kiss is hesitant, fleeting.  The second is anything but.  They crash together, urgent and demanding, licking into each other’s mouths.  Tony tongues curiously along each fang, sending a wave of desire for everything _Tony_ rushing through Steve. Then, very deliberately, he punctures his tongue on the sharp point, and Steve moans as Tony’s glorious taste starts to fill his mouth.

 He suckles for a bit, then whines when Tony retracts the appendage.  The lack of an immediate blood source helps Steve realize that he’s grinding down on Tony, making the man toss his head back and moan, already out of breath.  Tony’s pupils are blown when he opens his eyes again, and he gasps, “C’mon,” as he guides Steve down to his neck.

Steve goes easily this time, snuffling out the best spot to feed from, then licking and sucking to bring the blood up to the surface.  He does an extra roll with his lower body, making Tony toss his head back even more, and bites down, making sure to place his hands on Tony’s head and chest to keep the feeding area immobile.  As lost as he is in the headiness that’s _Tony_ , Steve knows that that is _not_ and area he wants to damage.

Tony’s hips stutter against his at the bite, and he starts to moan as Steve begins to take pulls.  God, he’s missed this fresh stuff.  _Nothing_ compares, Tony’s taste especially; he’s almost forgotten about that _heavenly_ aftertaste; that foreign tang that he _still_ can’t identify.

Steve lets off, licking the wound closed.  He leaves plenty to make sure Tony has no problem keeping his erection up, and dives back up for Tony’s mouth, remembering too late that Tony probably doesn’t want to taste himself, but Tony moans into the kiss instead of pushing him away, clutching at the back of Steve’s neck to pull him closer.

Steve ruts harder and faster into Tony, Tony returning every thrust.  Their kiss is messy and violent, filled with teeth clashing and the tinge of blood as hands grasp at thighs and shirts and fistfuls of hair.

Steve’s mewls climb higher and higher, his hips loosing rhythm as he finally gasps out his release with his forehead pressed to Tony’s.  Tony nudges Steve’s still-twitching hips up enough to be able to reach into his own slacks, getting his hand around himself in order to finish himself off with a long groan while Steve’s still catching his breath above him.

Tony flops back, sated, and Steve follows him down, nuzzling into his chest, uncaring of the mess between them.  It’s easier to clean than blood.

“You know, that isn’t quite how I was planning on this going when I walked in here.”

Steve smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first ever sex scene, so please feel free to let me know how you enjoyed it. I always love getting constructive criticisms about my writing, since this is not a skill that comes naturally to me.
> 
> Got an idea for something you want to see with Vampire!Steve? Let me know in the comments! I always heavily consider ideas, and usually they show up in some form in later chapters.
> 
> As always, feel free to leave comments and Kudos!


	3. March 1942: On Tour with the USO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the plus side, he's not a virgin anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going back in time for this one. Heads up for possible feels.

_**March 1942: On Tour with the USO** _

It’s easy to breath.

That’s his first thought every morning, before he’s even fully conscious; how easily his lungs work now.  If nothing else, he’d have taken that improvement from Erskine’s formula alone and been thankful for it, as it’s truly a blessing to not have to struggle for every breath, to have his lungs fighting him for every second of every day.

It’s the other aspects of the serum that are taking some getting used to.  He’s taller, first of all, which is an entirely different perspective on the world and on the people around him.  People tend to notice him more because of that.  Well, that or the muscles.  Which is another thing he’s adjusting to; just how much _mass_ he suddenly has to deal with now, and it makes him move completely differently.  Even holding a pencil is suddenly strange with how thick his fingers have gotten.

And people notice him now.  They think he’s attractive, which hurts a little, since his face and personality never changed, it’s just the rest of him that got… bigger.  Though he gets why the sickly, scrawny kid from Brooklyn never got a chance, cause who would want to be with someone who’s never sure if they’re gonna live through the next winter?  But it’s sad how being healthy, with some added height and muscle, suddenly makes people trip over themselves to rub elbows with him.

On the plus side, he’s not a virgin anymore.

Dorothy, one of the chorus girls, showed an interest in his drawings one day, and he soon learned that she’d been studying fine arts before the war as well.  When she laughed instead of being offended at his Wizard of Oz joke (at her expense, no less), he decided to man up to ask her out to dinner.  If anything, it was the knowledge that he’d never see Dorothy outside of the USO, that any relationship with her would be impermanent, that made him braver about taking such a step.  Now they’re going steady (or as steady as one can go while on tour), and it’s not uncommon for them to share a room at night.

Tonight’s one of those nights, but something about Steve feels… off.  He’s been hungry all day, but whenever he tried to eat, the food was completely unappetizing.  He was barely able to choke down lunch and dinner was even worse, with all but two bites of his food going uneaten.

“Steve, are you all right?”

Steve blinks, focusing back on Dorothy.  He chides himself for not paying attention to their conversation, but decides to be honest with her, “I’m sorry, I’ve been feeling kind of off all day. I’m hungry, but… not, at the same time. I’m sorry, it’s weird.”

She hums, “No, I’ve noticed.  You barely touched dinner, and that’s a bit worrying, considering you usually eat enough for three.”

Steve grimaces at the thought of the wasted food, “It didn’t smell good.”

“You sure you’re not pregnant?”

That pulls a chuckle from him, but he shakes his head.  “I’m just worried.  Y’know I was real sick growing up.  And that procedure that fixed me up a couple months ago was _real_ experimental, so I’m worried this is some side effect that’s only showing up now.”

She frowns, “Why don’t you try sleeping it off tonight, then we’ll see if you need a doctor in the morning.  Can’t have you dropping out of the show on us, now can we?”

He nods, and she leans in, meaning to give him a kiss goodnight, but there’s just something about her smell that he needs _more_ of.  Whatever it is that he’s hungry for, it’s _on_ her or _in_ her and he just _needs_ it, he needs at it—

“Steve?”

Steve comes back to himself, his face buried in the crook of Dorothy’s neck, one hand supporting her upper back, the other buried in her hair.  He’s practically pulled her onto his lap, and she’s bracing herself on his chest.  Her hands clench in his shirt when he presses his open mouth to her pulse point, _feeling_ the _tha-dum, tha-dum, tha-dum, tha-dum_ of the blood pulsing through.

“Steve?” her voice squeaks, turning hesitant.

He _growls_ and—

He growls?

Wha—oh God.  Oh God.  Shit, shit, shit.

“Fuck,” he says, and gasps in pain as something stabs his lower lip as he speaks.

He scrambles away from Dorothy, barely cognizant of the fact that he’s tumbled her on her back in his escape; only thinking _away_ and pulling himself into the corner of his bed, drawing his knees up as some sort of barrier while he figures out _what the fuck_ is _in his mouth_.

“Steve! What—?”

His head snaps up at her voice.  His mouth hangs open, for fear of stabbing himself again, and he knows his eyes are pulled wide, fear and confusion and _terror_ making the whites shine bright.

She gasps, voice shaking heavily, “Steve?  Oh my Lord.  _Oh my Lord._   You—you have _fangs_.”

He buries his head in his hands.  Oh _god_.  He’s a _monster._ “Go,” he says, voice distorted as he tries to speak around the—the _things_ in his mouth, “You should go.”

He flinches when he feels her hand on his knee, and buries his head further down, fingers knotting themselves into his hair.  “Is it—is it blood that you’re hungry for?” Dorothy asks, and God bless her, cause Steve can _hear_ her heartbeat flutter with how afraid she is, but she’s still here trying to help him.

But the thought of _blood_ , thick and rich and strong, just under her skin, makes him whine; a high, inhuman sound, but one of unmistakable _need_.  He clenches his fingers tighter in his hair, because what is she _doing?_   She isn’t _safe_ here, she needs to _get away_ before he hurts her, cause she’s so much more fragile than him, and he signed up for this to _fight_ bullies, not _become_ one.

He listens to her shift to the other side of the room.  “Okay Dorothy,” she mutters to herself, “okay, let’s do this,” and she lets out a small hiss of pain before _that scent_ hits him again, so much stronger now.

He can’t help whining again, unfurling himself and reaching for her as she carefully, stiffly, walks back to him.  It isn’t until he’s grabbing for her hand that he even notices the letter opener that she’s brandishing in the other, and he looks at it, then up at her where her eyes are as afraid as his, but she swallows, giving him a brusque nod, and he lets his gaze travel back to her first hand, so small cradled in both of his, and the blood that’s pooling in her palm.

He licks, tentative, but moans at the flavor as it melts like liquid chocolate on the tip of his tongue.  Encouraged, she kneels on the bed with him, lowering her weapon but keeping it in hand as she presses the wound up closer.  He presses his mouth to it, beginning to drink in and savor her lifeblood like a delicate red wine, his eyes closed with the pure pleasure and intimacy of the act.

His ears are so attuned to the sound of her heart, that as soon as it starts to slow, regardless of it maybe being from her relaxing instead of suffering from blood loss, he lets go, wanting to take no chances of hurting her.

On instinct, he laps at the wound, and they both watch in wonder as it closes before their eyes.

“So, how experimental was that procedure, exactly?” she asks, voice still a little too high.

“Well—” he clears his throat, “Well, I went from five foot four and ninety pounds soaking wet to this—” he gestures at himself.  It occurs to him after the fact that there was nothing impeding his speech this time, and he brings his hands up to poke around his mouth in curious bafflement.

She giggles, slightly hysterical.  “I should—I should sleep in my own room tonight,” his heart breaks a little as she stands up, moving just out of his reach, “I just need—I think we both need, a little time to get out heads around—around this,” she motions to her now-unblemished hand.

He shifts so he can slowly take that hand back, making to presses his lips to the back, but remembers soon enough to press his forehead to it instead.  “Yeah,” he sighs, “You’re right.”  He looks up, giving her something that hopefully resembles a grin, “G’night Dorothy.”

She manages to crook a smile, smooths her thumb across his brow, and whispers, “Good night Steve.”

He watches her walk out the door, feet almost steady, with the letter opener still clutched with white knuckles in her fist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but it's been a wild couple of weeks since I STARTED MY STUDY ABROAD!!!!!!
> 
> So... yeah. On the plus side, I have no crazy extra-curriculars to hold me up this semester, and there's also no classes Friday through Sunday, so unless I'm on a weekend trip exploring Europe, I /should/ be able to post every week or two for the rest of the semester. Woo Updates!


	4. April 1942: On Tour with the USO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And he just bites into you?” Peggy sounds mildly horrified.
> 
> “And his saliva can close the wound after, which I frankly feel is the strangest part.”

The hotel is fancy, the lobby filled with gleaming floors and lights, the halls covered in rich, plush carpets.  Not something Steve and Dorothy would have necessarily splurged on themselves, and definitely a level of class Steve’s not used to, but also not too classy to make him feel out of place in his new, but inexpensive suit, and Dorothy in her modest (but stunning, if he says so himself) wine red dress.

Room 307, he knocks, and the brunette he’d almost forgotten the face of, but who he’ll always remember as the one who gave him a chance, opens the door.

“Steve,” she smiles, sure and confident in her dress uniform and bold red lipstick.

“Peggy,” he greets, already feeling like everything will be right in the world if this woman can help it, “This is Dorothy.  Dorothy, this is Peggy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Peggy, I hope you’re able to help Steve.”

“Likewise, although I wasn’t aware Steve was going to bring company to this meeting,” she shoots a look at Steve, but ushers them both inside the room, closing and locking the door behind them. 

Steve’s grateful that she trusts his call to involve Dorothy in this, even though she has no clue who this and how trustworthy she might be outside of Steve’s word.  He smiles a little bashfully, “I couldn’t keep this meeting a secret from her, and her insight might be useful, since she was present for when my issue first arose, and has been helping me with it since.”

Peggy motions for them to take a seat in the suite’s small sitting room.  There’s a tea set already put out on the table, and Peggy retrieves another cup for Dorothy before sitting herself.  She pours them all a cup and prepares her own, taking a sip before she gets down to business.  “You keep mentioning an issue with yourself, what is it?”

He swallows, losing his nerve, “I—this is going to sound insane.”

Peggy just raises a dark eyebrow, “More insane than the seeing you walk into a machine as skin and bones and walking out five minutes late a full head taller and the epitome of human health?”

Steve cringes, “I— well, you see—um—”

“He needs blood,” Dorothy interrupts, cutting off Steve’s embarrassed stuttering.

“Don’t we all?”

Dorothy shakes her head, “He needs to ingest about a half pint of human blood on a weekly basis.  His body stops processing regular food otherwise.”

Peggy blinks, visibly thrown.  “He has to…drink blood?” They nod.  “It has to be human blood?”

“Yeah,” Dorothy nods, “we managed to get some pig and cow blood from a butcher for him to try, but even though he showed all the same reactions to it, it didn’t actually solve any of his symptoms, so we figured it didn’t have any nutritional value or whatever is that he needs in human blood.  It has to be human.”

“What do you mean he reacts to it?”

“He, um…” She looks at him to explain.

“Well… I get really focused on the blood.  Everything else fades away, like nothing else could possibly be important.  When I’m drinking from Dorothy, I can only hear her pulse, her heartbeat.  And—well, words tend to escape me when I’m in that trance. It—It’s more like growls, and animal instinct.”

“And you drink blood straight from Dorothy?”

“Well, the first time I used a letter opener to cut my hand open, but after that he—well, he grows fangs?”

“And he just bites into you?” Peggy sounds mildly horrified.

“I—the first time I used my—my fangs, I was pretty nervous about hurting her, but there seems to be some really strong instinct helping me do it right.”

“And his saliva can close the wound after, which I frankly feel is the strangest part.”

“But you’re the only one feeding him?  Half a pint a week is more than the human body can take.  You’ll need another donor, or you’ll make yourself sick.  I’d be surprised if you’re not already feeling under the weather.”

Steve looked at Dorothy, who wouldn’t meet his eyes, a vaguely guilty look on her face.

“Dorothy, am I—am I hurting you?” He couldn’t stand it if he was.

“You need the blood, Steve, and we don’t really know who else to trust,” she murmured.  But that’s—that’s no excuse.  He’s not more important than her well-being.

“Dorothy—” Steve begins.

“When’s the last time you fed?” Peggy interjects, cutting them off before they start getting into any couple’s drama, “I can be your donor for this week at least.  And then we can look into setting up someone else, or even several more people, who are able to help you out while you travel.”

Steve shares a look with Dorothy, “Yeah, that’d be good.  Thank you.”

“Does now work?  This is a good time for me to—to feed you, if that’s something you need right now.”

He feels the ache in his gums already at the mention, “Yeah,” his voice has gone breathless, “Now’s fine.”

He’s already focused on Peggy, watching with intent as she stands, unbuttoning her uniform jacket.  Watches the sleeves peel off of her arms like a second skin.  Watches as she rolls up the white sleeve of her shirt, exposing inch by inch the creamy pale expanse of her forearm.  Watches the delightful play of her heart beat through her veins as she comes closer to settle on the sofa next to him.  Watches her lift this feast, this glorious offering up to him. 

He grips her arm, sure but delicate, and lifts his face to hers.  He shows off his fangs, the weapons he promises to bear with care and precision, and waits for her nod of approval, of her permission to take the lifeblood straight from her vein.

He lowers his head, and bites.

Nothing— _nothing_ —can compare to that first rush of blood.  There are not _words_ that could possibly describe it.  If this is sacrilege, he will gladly denounce his religion, for there is nothing more precious, more _pure_ , than this sharing of life from his prey—his donor—to him.  Every time.  Every. Single. Time.  He makes sure to worship this act with due reverence, for it _must_ be holy in how right it feels, in how natural the exchange is to him.

“Oh,” Peggy gasps, “Oh, there must—” she swallows, “there must be an aphrodisiac he releases.  Probably to keep any donors happy and returning.”

“Oh,” Dorothy repeats, “I—ah—I guess I had thought it was just me; just my reaction to this.  I didn’t think that it would be something from his end…” she trails off.

He feels a hand settle in his hair, stroking gently.  Dorothy’s, by the scent of it.  He shudders at the tenderness of the action, and settles further into the embrace of the two women, purring his contentedness at their attentions, at his place where he exists between them.

He looks up, meeting the dark eyes of Peggy above him, knows that his pupils are sure to match.  He keeps a hold of her gaze as he breaks away from her arm, holds her eyes as he laves at the wound with his tongue and continues long after the punctures have been healed.

“Can I?” Peggy breathes, reaching for his face.

“ _Yes_.” Comes the fervent whisper from Dorothy as she presses herself to his back, drawing her hand down his thigh.  Her fingers in his hair tighten, tugging his head up to meet Peggy’s kiss, and he’s surprised to hear her groaning at the taste of her blood in his mouth, and gives his own groan at the feel of Dorothy’s lips on his neck.  He tips his head in supplication, wanting to give these women, these gorgeous, _gorgeous_ people, a bit of himself, just like he had taken from them.

They peel him—slowly, _lovingly_ —out of his clothes, sharing his skin, the taste of his flesh between them.  When Dorothy takes him into her mouth, he can only gasp, feeling like his very soul is being shredded, torn to bits just for her.  And when Peggy mounts him—daring, strong Peggy—he feels it’s his due to be the one to give and give and _give_ now, and _oh!_ how it pleases him to do so.  Dorothy smothers him with love as they go, sharing this communion with Peggy, too, and he’s so wrapped up in the feel of them both, with the miles of perfect, pale skin, and the loose curls of brown tossing about, that his own climax takes him practically by surprise.

As they lay there, panting, warm peaceful in the aftermath, he feels that it is only poetic that, for the bits of life these women fed him, he is able to treat them, to give them a bit of himself as a gift in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably not as cleaned up as I would like this to be, but I get jittery when I sit on a completed chapter for too long.
> 
> Questions, comments, ideas, concerns, or emotional outbursts? Feel free to leave any and all of these in the comments below!! Kudos are also gladly welcomed; they feed this author’s soul!


	5. Late May 2012: At the Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve feels mildly like that evil witch from Hansel and Gretel, sneakily fattening up his charge before throwing him in the oven and eating him. Which is… not entirely inaccurate, actually, minus the whole ‘cooking in the oven’ part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the present millennium for some food and fluffiness! 
> 
> This just kept going, so I split up the idea that I had for this chapter into two separate chapters (this one is already 50% longer than usual as it is). That means the next chapter should be pretty fluffy, too.
> 
> HOWEVER, I did change the rating to EXPLICIT because the sexy times are hard enough for me to write without adding more restrictions in the form of worrying about what language I’m using. Probably not too much more explicit than the previous chapters (like CH.2), but now just with a little less vague word choice and a little more of the actual action. Also, this chapter contains is the most in-depth smut I’ve ever written, so please let me know any opinions on both this and the smut that’s appeared in previous chapters.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**_Late May 2012: At the Tower_ **

**_(Picking up after Chapter 2)_ **

Tony’s workshop is a _wonderful_ place.  As in, literally full of wonder.  There’s fancy, shiny machines proudly displayed, messes of wire and metal strewn over the many worktables, bits and bobs hanging from the ceiling, and little robots wheeling about under their own command.  It’s a space full of life and intelligence formed by _Tony’s own hands_ , humming, pulsing with the feel of it.

Steve’s in awe every time he steps foot in here.

“Hey, what’s this?” Tony looks at the plate Steve’s carrying.

“Lunch,” Steve replies, proffering the food so Tony can enthusiastically dig in, which the man does with gusto.

“Jesus Christ, _yes_ , I love your cooking,” he says around bites of meat, literally shoving the food in as fast as he can.

Steve rubs the back of his head, playing the _aw, shucks_ routine.  He feels mildly like that evil witch from _Hansel and Gretel_ , sneakily fattening up his charge before throwing him in the oven and eating him.  Which is… not entirely inaccurate, actually, minus the whole ‘cooking in the oven’ part.

“Did you want a bite of me while you’re down here?” Tony leers, handing back the plate that’s already been scrapped clean.

Steve shakes his head, trying not to sigh mournfully, “Nah, it hasn’t been long enough since I last fed from you.  I don’t wanna make you sick.”

Tony pouts, “Damn.”  He brightens, “Hey, I could fix that!  A lot of people would kill for something to quickly replenish a person’s blood.  I wonder if Bruce could calculate the regeneration…” He breaks into muttering a bunch of science mumbo-jumbo, so Steve eases out of the room as he fades from Tony’s awareness, pleased at his recent success in keeping the engineer fed.

.

Steve’s in Tony’s workshop again.  This time he has a smoothie, but Tony isn’t noticing him.

Instead he spends a good ten minutes trying to place the drink down on the worktable, close enough that Tony might unconsciously pick it up and drink it, but far enough that it doesn’t get knocked over.  There’re a couple of close calls where he has to quickly snatch the glass away before things get ruined, but finally Tony’s hand closes over it, and Steve nearly crows in silent victory.

Tony makes a happy little sound as he sips it, before blinking and raising his head to look around.

“Oh.  Hey Steve.”

Steve grins.  “Hey Tony.”

Tony makes another hum in pleasure as he takes a larger swallow.  “God. This is _good_.  Did you make this?”

“Yep,” Steve says, popping the ‘p’.  He’s still grinning stupidly due to Tony’s obvious enjoyment of something he made.

“Well then, I forbid you from making these for anyone else.  I’m calling a full monopoly over your smoothing-making talents.  Don’t you dare whore yourself out to anyone else.  I’ll know, Rogers, I’m watching you,” he gulps down the rest.

“Sure Tony, whatever you say,” Steve replies, taking the empty glass back.

“Don’t you patronize me Steve Rogers.  You live under my roof.  I’m the one in control here,” he stabs a finger into Steve’s chest.

“Uhuh.  Sure thing, Tony.”

“Oh fuck off Blond Dracula,” Steve turns to leave, “No, wait!” he reels Steve back around again and pulls him in for a quick kiss.  Steve goes easily; he’ll never turn down free affection from this man.  “Alright, now shoo! Scram! Scat! I’ve got work to do and you’re ruining my focus.”

“I’ll see you a dinner tonight, right Tony?” Steve cajoles, still smiling softly from the warm fuzzies Tony’s kiss left him with.

Tony absently flaps his hand at him, “Yeah, yeah.  I’ll be there Blondie.  Don’t you worry your tight ass.  JARVIS, set an alarm for me, would you?”

“ _Certainly, Sir_.”

“Thanks, buddy. Now where’d I put that infernal flux capacitor…?”

Steve smiles to himself, knowing that he’ll probably have to come down and get Tony to come to dinner himself anyways.

.

“ _Captain Rogers, Sir is on his way to the kitchen_.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks JARVIS.”  He’d almost forgot about the alert he’d asked JARVIS to give him.  He sets down his notebook and heads up to the communal kitchen, arriving just before Tony does, and manages to get a glass of water and a glass of cranberry juice in front of the man before the coffee has even started brewing.

Tony looks up, confused, “What’s this?”

Steve flushes a little, “Hydration.”

A beat, then a sly grin works its way across Tony’s face, “Are you tracking my food and liquid intake there Capsicle?”

Steve crosses his arms, “Well, sorry that I have a vested interest in keeping you healthy.”  He moves to the fridge and starts digging around, “I’m making breakfast. How do you like your eggs?”

“No, that’s fine, you really don’t have to.  I’ll just have this muffin here.  See? Blueberry.  It’s all healthy and shit.  I even promise to eat all of it before starting any projects.” The man starts to walk away.

Steve whirls around and snarls, “ _Tony_.”  Tony freezes. “Sit down, shut up, and drink _your goddamn juice!_ ”

Tony slowly complies, eyes wide in shock.  Steve vaguely registers a slight hint of arousal coming from the man as well.

“Good,” he growls, “Now, tell me: How. Do you like. Your eggs.”

Tony lets out a breath, “Over-easy is fine by me, Babe.”

Steve flashes some fang in a grin, “Thank you, was that so hard?”

“Shit, are your fangs out?  Do you need to feed?”

Steve hums, “Soon would be nice.  I’m available for sometime today if you’re amenable.”

“ _Fuck_ , Honeybunches, I’m amenable right now,” Steve can literally hear the leer in Tony’s voice.

Steve turns around and raises what he hopes is an Eyebrow of Judgement.  “Don’t try to distract me,” he stabs a finger in the man’s direction, “You’re eating breakfast before _anything_ else.”

Tony grumbles and Steve turns back to the stove, putting the bacon on.  He starts making some toast as well, and pulls out some fruit preserves to slather on top for instant sugars.

“What, are you trying to fatten me up like a pig for slaughter?  I’m not gonna be able to _move_ after that much food.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Steve calls over his shoulder.

Tony gasps, “It was you who disappeared the coffee in the workshop!” he accuses.

Steve smirks, and hunches over the stove some more to hide it.

“That, that right there, that is a guilty silence.  I can hear your smugness, mister, don’t try to deny it.”

“Oh no.  You caught me.” Steve deadpans.  He plates up the food once it’s ready and places it in front of Tony, who is surprisingly still seated at the breakfast bar with two empty glasses in front of him. “It got you up here, didn’t it?”

“You dirty, dirty cheat.  I see what you did there.  I’m on to you now, though.  You can’t fool me twice,” he says, but still enthusiastically digs into his breakfast (or whatever meal that man considers this).

Soon enough, Tony scoots the plate away, empty.  Steve quickly washes it (eggs are an adhesive; he’s not gonna let that sit there), and slinks up to Tony, where the man is still waiting on his stool.  Tony greats him with a kiss, which quickly turns heavy, and Steve has to break away to murmur in Tony’s ear, “Your room or mine?”

Tony leers, “Why not here?”

Steve looks at him with what is quickly becoming his _Tony, no_ face.  He’s pretty sure he stole it off of Pepper.

Tony sighs, “Alright, alright.  Fine.  Let’s go to my floor, my bed’s bigger.”

Steve’s not really sure why the size of the bed would matter, since considering the extravagant size of his own bed, there should be no problem whatsoever fitting them both on there for a myriad of activities.  But he lets it go, and lets Tony pull him over to the elevator for the short ride up.

He was wrong actually.  Tony’s bed is much, much bigger.  The entirety of the Avengers could sleep on it, possibly even with Banner Hulk-sized instead of human-sized.  The kid in him who grew up sharing one tiny bed with Bucky balks at the size.  The person in him who lived through the Great Depression shudders at the waste of resources.  The Steve of now just wants to stretch out on those covers and purr.  But he has a Tony with him, so he opts for pulling them both onto the covers and necking instead.

Tony’s the responsible one when it comes to this stuff, so he makes sure they both actually get undressed this time.  The frantic frotting on the couch from before is now memory that they both chuckle over a little. 

Steve almost wasn’t prepared for how jarring the sight of the arc reactor would be set into Tony’s chest.  He’s seen it glowing through the man’s shirts sometimes, but didn’t quite comprehend the fact that a metal object has been fused into this man’s torso.

Steve reaches out with careful fingers, lightly tracing the reactor’s edge, then replaces them with his tongue, hands splayed over Tony’s chest as he works.  Tony’s fingers card through his hair, lightly threading and tugging and pulling aimlessly, before he starts nudging Steve downwards.

“Can we try the thigh this time?” he breathes.  Steve smiles into Tony’s stomach in answer, continuing to lave kisses and nips and licks on his way south.  He skirts along Tony’s hip before landing along a pulsing, pleasing vein.  He focuses his attentions there, sucking the blood to the surface while Tony’s breath hitches and moans above him.  Steve teases and teases, drawing out the anticipation for both of them before he final gives in and gives a solid bite down. 

They both moan as the blood flows out.  Tony spreads his legs even wider, showing his acceptance for Steve’s chosen feeding spot.  Steve latches on harder at Tony’s enjoyment, relishing the taste of the man’s arousal on his tongue.

Steve runs his hands along the outside of Tony’s thighs as he drinks, giving affection in return as he keeps the limb pressed close.  He passes a hand under Tony’s free leg, runs his fingers over the delicate skin on the inside, and spends a moment tracing the hipbone with his thumb before he final takes Tony’s cock in hand.

Tony arches and moans at the action, pressing his leg further into Steve as he does.  Steve lets his fingers tease at Tony, working him up while he focuses on finishing his drink.

“ _Steeeve_ ,” Tony whines in frustration as his actions continue to be not _quite_ enough, “Steve, please, _come on_.”

Steve detaches at last, something between a growl and a chuckle rumbling through him as he cleans up the wound.  His licks continue moving, bringing him closer to where Tony actually wants him to go, and Tony wriggles with anticipation.

Steve, evilly, takes this moment to break off and go nuzzle at Tony’s knee.  Tony’s despondent whine is music to his ears, but in the next second, Steve gets at what Tony’s been waiting for, giving no warning before he’s licking up Tony’s cock and swallowing the tip into his mouth.

Tony’s groan of appreciation and the fingers that quickly come to tangle in his hair bring a pleased purr to his throat, and Tony groans again at the feeling of the vibrations around him.

From there, Steve forgets all teasing, only wanting to give Tony a good time and to get pleasure himself of watching the man fall apart.  Without his fangs in the way now, he’s free to work Tony hard and fast and with abandon, and before long he hears the quickening of breath above him that signals his partner’s impending release.  He switches to his hand at that point, pumping and squeezing with even more speed as he leans over Tony, watching his head toss back, eyes wide as they focus back at Steve over him, and mouth agape around a strangled scream as his climax hits him.

Steve works him through it, letting go once Tony finally bats him of with tired, uncoordinated hand.  He brings his hand to his mouth then, and licks off the bits of Tony’s semen that landed on it, spending a quiet moment contemplating the differences between it and Tony’s blood.  A little thicker, perhaps, more bitter, but less metallic.

He opens his eyes to see Tony still looking up at him, eyes only half-open in his realized exhaustion.  “You haven’t finished,” he mumbles, reaching for Steve’s still-hard cock. 

Steve honestly had forgotten about that, so focused he was on Tony.  He stops Tony’s hand from connecting, “You’re not gonna be much help with that right now,” he murmurs, kissing Tony’s knuckles in apology, “Go to bed, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, especially with the show you just put on for me.”

Tony hums, aware of the sense Steve is making but discontent with it.  Steve reaches down for a chaste kiss anyways, “Sleep,” he orders, and Tony does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of the ‘flux capacitor’ is credited to Back to the Future.
> 
> Questions, comments, ideas, concerns, or emotional outbursts? Feel free to leave any and all of these in the comments below!! Kudos are also gladly welcomed; they feed this author’s soul!


	6. Early April 2012: At the Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve jumps when the elevator dings suddenly loud in their quiet space. Tony, who was jolted when Steve startled, just chuckles lightly as he relaxes back down. “It’s just Pepper, Babe,” he mumbles.
> 
> Which, of course, does nothing to make Steve feel any better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… I’m still alive. Obviously, it’s been a couple of months, and in that time my plot for this chapter changed from tooth-rotting fluff to an appetizer of fluff and a full entrée of smut, featuring a little bit of Dom!Pepper. 
> 
> Also, this is the first explicit threesome and the first explicit sex with a female participant I’ve written, so please let me know what you think!

**_Early April 2012: At the Tower_ **

They're on Tony's floor one night, wrapped up in each other watching some movie or other.  Steve’s lost track of what’s on.  He was pretty enthused by entertainment options in the 21st century when he was first exposed to them, but over time they’ve lost their shine; they’re just another thing to remind him of all that’s changed.

Either way, Steve’s got a Tony in his lap, and that’s plenty enough to distract him from his culture shock.  Steve’s seated in the corner of the couch, back against the armrest and feet up on the cushions.  Tony’s sitting cradled between his spread thighs, warm torso snugged back up against his and his head lulled back onto Steve’s shoulder.  He’s probably not paying much attention to the movie either, what with Steve teasing at Tony’s neck with little licks and nips that play at the skin but don’t break through.  Steve’s thumbs are rubbing circles on the inside of Tony’s knees, drawing little hitched breaths from the body on top of him every time his hands start making a move further up Tony’s thighs.

It’s comfortable, soft, and there’s no sense of urgency.  They could turn this into sex, but they’re also enjoying the simple pleasures of the now.  In deference to their switched attentions, JARVIS lowers the volume of the movie.

Which means that Steve jumps when the elevator dings suddenly loud in their quiet space.  Tony, who was jolted when Steve startled, just chuckles lightly as he relaxes back down.  “It’s just Pepper, Babe,” he mumbles.

Which, of course, does nothing to make Steve feel any better.  He glances down to where Tony’s obviously hard in his jeans, spread out unabashedly where Pepper can see just what kinds of activities she’s walked in on once she enters the entertainment area.  Steve wants to hide his face in Tony’s shoulder to save himself from the embarrassment of being caught like this.

He and Pepper have only encountered each other sparingly since he’s moved into the tower.  The most interaction they’ve had so far wasn’t even a conversation, but more of an appraisal on her part.  It happened a couple of nights ago when he’d left Tony sleeping in his bed post-feeding and post-orgasm.  He’d been heading to the elevator to return to his own floor when he’d encountered Pepper, face flushed—no doubt from hearing their nighttime activities—but eyes dark with desire as she slowly perused his form where he’d frozen in surprise in the doorway, taking in his tousled hair, swollen lips, and blown pupils.  Enjoying the sheen of sweat his skin was covered in and finally feasting her gaze on where he was absolutely, _achingly_ hard in his trousers.

When her eyes had met his again, she’d given him a truly devilish smile and had let her fingertips brush across his chest as she strolled past him on her way to Tony’s bedroom.  It had taken him a minute still to find himself again, but then he’d beaten a hasty escape to his floor.  He’d been so turned on that once he reached his own bedroom, he was able to bring himself to completion not once, but twice in quick succession.

Now, when Pepper finally does walk into the room to see Tony and Steve curled up in each other, she only says, “There you are,” with a soft smile, neither addressing nor ignoring Steve’s presence.  This non-action on her part only serves to set Steve’s instincts on edge, so he wraps his arms around Tony’s waist, pulling him close like he’s trying to protect his prey from her.

Tony only chuckles at Steve’s actions and says, “Hey Pep.”

Hey smile grows larger as she walks up to them, replying, “Hey Tony,” before meeting him in a chaste kiss.  She then turns to Steve, saying, “Hey Steve,” as she caresses his cheek.  She uses her fingertips to tip his head up, then she slowly presses her lips to his, giving him plenty of time to turn away if he wishes.  It’s sweet and pure in its stillness, and he tries to trail after her when they part until he’s grounded instead by Tony’s weight in his lap.

She only then shows notice of Tony’s aroused state, purring, “It looks like _someone’s_ been having fun,” as she reaches down to fondle him.  Tony arches up, gasping at her touch, and Steve gasps in turn as Tony’s hips press back into his.  Of all the outcomes that could have occurred when Pepper walked in on Steve and Tony making some time together, her joining them was not what he expected (at least the first time).

Pepper glances at Steve with a wicked grin, “Say ‘Pomegranate’ if you would like us to stop or slow down, Steve,” she says as he hears her lower Tony’s fly.  He can only nod dumbly before she’s diving in to twine tongues with Tony, and soon the air is filled with the quick _fap fap fap_ of her hand flying over Tony’s dick, the smell of his pre-come growing pungent now that there’s no clothes to muffle the aroma.  Tony’s already writhing in her grip, high, breathy moans leaving his lips, almost sounding like he’s in pain but nothing but ecstasy written on his face.  His hands had flown up to grip her biceps as soon as she had started in on him, more as a way to support himself than for any means of trying to control her. 

Steve’s hands, for their part, had unwound to grip directly at Tony’s hips, keeping him from squirming too much and keeping him pulled back nice and snug against Steve’s dick where all his wriggling could be put to good use.

Pepper pulls back eventually, lipstick showing only a little smudging in the middle, holding up a lot better than the brands from his day.  She climbs up onto the couch, kneeling between Steve’s and Tony’s collective of spread legs, and summarily replaces her hand with her mouth.  Tony thrusts up at the sudden wet heat, and she pulls off with a _pop_ in return.  “Steve,” she says, “hold him down for me, please.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies, voice rough with pleasure even as he complies without a thought.  He looks over Tony’s shoulder in time to see the tip slide past her lips again, her painted mouth stretching obscenely as she takes her boyfriend’s dick down.  She holds at about halfway for a moment, and Tony shudders and shakes as she does God-knows-what with her tongue.  Tony’s head starts lolling against Steve’s shoulder, and the man begins to moan freely now, not even pretending to be in control of the noises coming out of his mouth.  Steve’s graduated to full gasping breaths with every move Tony makes against him, but Pepper, when she comes up for air, is still so very in control of her breathing.

She’s so very in control of this whole ordeal, and Steve nearly comes at the thought of her dominance.

She returns to swallowing Tony whole, until he’s hitching his breath in preparation to come, and she pulls back suddenly, leaving Tony a whining, nearly crying mess as he tries to find that last friction he needs to fall over the edge.

Steve can only watch, mouth agape as he draws in heaving breaths, as she stands to undress.  She meets his eyes as she unzips her pencil skirt, stepping out of it surely even with her huge, domineering heels still on and laying the garment over a nearby chair.  Her lacy undergarments cover much less than he was expecting, and he’s entranced in studying the way they frame her hips even as she unbuttons her blouse, revealing a bra that’s just as lacy and just as sculpting of her body.  She lays the blouse over the same chair, but when she daintily slides out of her lacy underthings, she just leaves them where they lay. 

She approaches the couch again, by far the least dressed out of them all in only a lacy bra of deep wine red and a pair of tall black heels, but all the more powerful for it.  Tony’s calmed down some by the time she returned and is coherent enough to help out when she gestures to his legs and says, “Pants off.”  With Steve’s help, they manage quickly enough, and Tony even leans forward to slide his t-shirt off for good measure.  Pepper rewards him with a smile before moving to straddle their combined tangle of legs.  She wastes no time in lining up with Tony’s dick and taking it in.

She allows herself a second to let her eyes close, head falling back as her red lips part with a silent sigh at the feeling of being filled, but soon enough she’s moving, and Steve can feel every downward thrust she makes reverberate through Tony and into his own dick, Tony lifting his hips to meet her before grinding back on Steve.

Pepper finds Steve’s hands where they’ve resettled on Tony’s hips.  She guides them to hold her own hips where they trap Tony’s hands already there.  She squeezes her fingers to make Steve tighten his grip, and slowly, she transitions from moving her own weight to letting Steve move her, taking advantage of his strength to keep the pace going without her having to worry about tiring.  Steve’s instincts for the act take over, and soon he’s thrusting up into every time he pulls her down, trapping Tony in between.  It feels like he and Tony are one, thrusting as one being as they pull Pepper down to meet them, everyone crying out with each time they meet.  Steve’s holding on to the edge with dear life, but Pepper has to come first; she _needs_ to come first. 

He can hear the wet sound of her fingers flying over her sex, can smell her arousal getting thicker and deeper until at last her breath hitches and she goes over with a cry, head falling forward onto Tony’s chest, who’s going lax against Steve as he breathes through his own orgasm.  Steve grinds up one last time before he’s pressing his open mouth to Tony’s neck, riding out his own waves of pleasure as he comes in his pants, only remembering now that he’s still fully dressed. 

For a minute there’s nothing but everyone’s labored breathing, slowly calming as they all come back to themselves.  Pepper lifts her head up to tiredly kiss Tony, then Steve in turn.  Tony, who had noticed the placement of Steve’s mouth on his neck when they’d all fallen apart, asks if Steve needs a bite to eat.

“Nah,” he says, “I’m good right now,” and he knows he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: I fully support to use of condoms and other types of protection during sexual intercourse to prevent STIs and unwanted pregnancies. In the course of this story, you will notice that Pepper and Tony do not use condoms when interacting with each other, but (when we get there) they will use one when interacting with Steve. My headcanon here is that Tony and Pepper are both tested clean, so they don’t have to worry about transmitting diseases to others. Tony had also gotten a vasectomy years ago, so he’s unable to get Pepper pregnant. Because of this, Pepper and Tony choose to not use a condom (or other types of protection) when having sex with each other. However, I urge you to practice safe habits in your own experiences!
> 
> Questions, comments, concerns, or emotional outbursts? Feel free to leave any and all of these in the comments below!! Kudos are also gladly welcomed; they feed this author’s soul!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to leave comments and Kudos!


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